


Enticing Desires

by StarvedWereFiend



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Butt Plugs, Daddy Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Father-Son Relationship, Father/Son Incest, First Time Bottoming, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:22:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29789838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarvedWereFiend/pseuds/StarvedWereFiend
Summary: Oliver is still living with his father, Vincent, at the age of twenty, but they both prefer it that way. They were close, maybe a bit too close. To the outside world, they seemed like your typical father and son duo who have only had each other after Oliver's mother left them when he was only two. Inside their home, alone, they begin to unravel their enticing desires for one another.
Relationships: Oliver Davis/Vincent Davis (Original Characters)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

Oliver startled awake from a nightmare he couldn't remember, realizing far too late that he was at the edge of the bed before thudding to the floor in a heap of long limbs. He groaned, rolling onto his back and threading his fingers through curly almost black hair to get it off his forehead. It was damp, not surprising considering his whole body was covered in cold sweat. His eyes were still closed as he rolled over and stood, barely peeking them open as he stumbled over to his door.

He was only wearing a tank top and boxers, so the cool air from the hallway as he stepped out of his room made him shiver and curse internally. He could smell food wafting up the stairs from the kitchen, knowing it was his father, Vincent, making breakfast. He always did on the weekends.

Oliver's bare feet padded down the stairs and across the cold floor as he made his way to the kitchen where his father stood in all his glory, back facing his son as he cooked. He was dressed more modestly. His fit chest covered with a black t-shirt and black pajama bottoms that held a Batman logo, feet tucked in years-old slippers.

Vincent was the biggest geek he knew when it came to superheros and comic books. He thought it was adorable that his 42 year old father waltzed around in merch and even collected a few items. At 20, Oliver's current only hobby related interest was football, but he hadn't played since he graduated high school.

Unless you counted pining after your father a hobby.

Ever since Oliver hit puberty, he'd begun to slowly notice little things about his father that caught his eye. Things that made his heart skip and pants tighten painfully. He learned two things around that time. Firstly, he was definitely bisexual, not straight. Secondly, he was attracted to his father in a romantic and sexual way.

His first reaction upon discovering this was disgust. How could he feel those things for someone who partook in creating him, shared his blood, and raised him? It was wrong on so many levels. For a couple of years, he often cried himself to sleep after relieving himself to fantasies of his father. He hated to think how his father would react it he found out. It was wrong and disgusting.

Now, though he still occasionally has his self loathing moments, they are far and few in between. He'd even started doing and saying certain things around his dad to see how he'd react. Occasional touches that lingered too long, standing a bit too close. Vincent either didn't react or he'd sometimes become noticeably flustered.

Oliver wanted more, though. So much more. He wanted run his fingers through his father's wavy dark brown hair as he looked into those seafoam colored eyes that rivaled his own. He wanted to feel his fit body pressed against his own, toned from years of playing baseball. God, did he want to see his ass in those baseball pants again. They fit exceptionally well.

Dismissing the perverted thoughts from his mind, Oliver made his way over to his father. With an inaudible sigh, he bent and rested his forehead on top of the man's shoulder, hair falling forward once more. He was about a couple inches taller than his dad and bigger muscle wise. Working out to knock people on their asses will do that to you. Vincent's hair was longer than his own, falling past his shoulder and the strands tickled his ear.

"Morning, Ollie Pop." Vincent greeted his son with his usual nickname. It was childish, but he still liked it.

Oliver grunted in response, too sleepy for words.

"Still tired?" He could feel his father's head move slightly, probably glancing down at him. "Another nightmare?" Oliver could hear the concern in his tone.

The big man child grunted again, stepping closer to his dad, but not too close. If they touched in this position, he'd for sure get a boner.

For the past week or so, he'd been getting nightmares more frequently. Some sleep paralysis thrown into the mix. He was barely getting more than four hours of sleep at night, not including his occasional waking up in between. It also didn't help that he couldn't remember some of them so he didn't even know why he was so damn afraid.

It was torture.

"Here," Oliver opened his eyes and lifted his head, only to see a piece of bacon in his face. Food was one way to wake him up and make his feel better.

He leaned forward with parted lips, chest pressing into Vincent's back. Their faces were right next to each other, but he did his best to ignore that fact, gripping his father's wrist to pull the bacon closer and taking a bite. His lips brushed the other man's fingers and he felt his body tense.

Feigning innocence, he glanced at his father as he chewed before licking his lips teasingly slow. Vincent's eyes followed the movement and Oliver felt a sick sensation of satisfaction. All too soon though, his father cleared his throat and stepped away. He didn't miss the pink that tinted his cheeks as he fixed their plates.

"I'll probably have to get some sleeping pills soon." Oliver mumbled as they both sat at the table eating their breakfast.

Vincent looked up from his toast with a slight frown, "it might help." He voiced, seeming reluctant to agree. It didn't surprise his son in the slightest, but he wanted a decent nights rest and getting off twice a night before sleeping only helped so much.

Oliver rested his cheek on the palm of his left hand as he looked into those green eyes, eating the last corner of his toast. "I promise I'll stop if the side effects start kicking in." He had bad luck when it came to that in medications. Often falling susceptible to the headaches, dizziness, and nausea.

His father accepted that with a nod and they finished up their breakfast. "Need to go back to sleep or take a nap?" He asked as he took their plates to the sink.

"Not sure I wanna risk it." Sleep paralysis was never a fun experience. Though, even as he answered, he could feel a yawn trying to fight its way up his throat.

His dad watched him for a minute, before turning to wash their dishes and what he used to cook. "We'll watch a movie in the living room and see what happens."

Oliver lifted himself from the chair and into the next room, plopping down on the couch. As soon as Vincent sat down, he shifted into a laying position, his head on the other's lap. A strong hand immediately landed on his head, fingers running through his hair causing him to sigh in comfort. That was a nice feeling. His eyelids fluttered before he looked up at the man above him as he spoke.

"Anything?" The deep voice rumbled as the owner focused his attention on the TV, fingers still massaging his scalp.

"Mhm," he hummed, closing his tired eyes. Not like it mattered to him anyway. He doubted he'd still be awake in minute.

Just when he was start to doze off, he felt a soft kiss placed on his forehead before a quiet whisper. "Go to sleep, Ollie Pop."

He did and it was the best damn sleep he'd gotten in a while.

×StarvedWereFiend×


	2. Chapter 2

Oliver woke slowly to the feeling of something poking him in the cheek. At first, he couldn't remember where he was until he heard the sound of his father's soft snoring and the quiet hum of the TV. His eyes opened slowly with a silent yawn and he realized he was now facing Vincent's torso. One of his arms was wrapped around the man's back, slightly lifting the black t-shirt which gave him the most godly view of a dark happy trail.

After taking a few seconds to soak in the sight and wake up more, he was able to register that the thing poking him in the cheek was his father's dick. Holy shit, it was so close. He could feel his heartbeat kicking up. If it weren't for a couple layers of clothing, assuming Vincent was wearing underwear, it'd be touching his face.

Fuck, he wanted it in his mouth.

Oliver could feel his own cock twitch at the thought. He couldn't do that though. He knew he'd only terrify his father if he committed such an act, especially while he was sleeping. Plus, he was a man with a high belief in consent.

That didn't stop the thoughts that ran rampant in his mind as he continued to lay there, feeling the occasional twitch against his face, his boxers slowly tenting. Mouthing a curse, he sat up and swiftly left the room, heading to the bathroom down the hall. Once safely inside, he leaned back against the door, immediately stuffing his hand in his boxers and pulling out his weeping cock.

He tilted his head back in relief and pleasure as he began to stroke up and down, slowly at first before speeding up. This time, his mind conjured up an image of his father on his knees in front of him with his mouth wrapped around his cock.

"Oh fuck," Oliver groaned softly, hips bucking into his hand, imagining it was Vincent's mouth. Fuck, he'd look so hot choking on his dick.

With seconds to spare, he moved over to the toilet, lifting the lid as he aimed. His balls tightened in anticipation when he heard a knock at the bathroom door.

"You okay, Ollie?" Vincent's deep voiced carried through the door and sent his son over the edge with a low groan.

He bit down on his hand to muffle any more noises as his cum rained down into the toilet. Damn. He panted quietly, cleaning up any leftovers from his cock with a tissue before tossing it and flushing. He tucked himself away, moving to the sink and washing his hands.

When he opened the door, his father was leaning against the wall across from him. He probably woke up when his son abruptly abandoned him on the couch. He noticed a couple of things as he eyed the man. His cheeks were pink, meaning he probably figured out what Oliver had just been up to. The other thing was that he now donned a different pair of pajama pants. Interesting.

"'M fine." Oliver stepped into the hallway with a raised brow. "What happened to your other pants?" He asked, pointing at the now colorful comic printed pants, too far away to tell which ones.

Vincent turned a shade darker as he looked away, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "They, uh, had a st-stain on them- um, from making breakfast!" He quickly reiterated, looking slightly panicked.

Oliver couldn't stop the small smirk that spread across his lips. "Right." His father probably didn't know that he'd already seen and felt how hard he was while he slept. He'd probably made a mess of the Batman pants and had to change out of them. "So... Movies?"

It was Sunday and they usually spent it lazily lounging about the house, binging TV shows and watching movies. Sometimes pulling out card and board games.

"Yeah," Vincent nodded, looking relieved to not be pressed further. "Or Dexter." He suggested as they made their way back to the living room, this time sitting next to each other on the couch. Not as comfortable as their previous position, in Oliver's opinion.

"Yeah, put that on." He agreed, having forgotten that they'd started the show last weekend.

So, that's what they did most of the day. After several episodes, two meat lovers pizzas, and a conversation about Oliver's current job search, it was close to eleven at night. They stood and stretched, saying their 'good nights' before heading to their respective rooms across from each other.

Oliver took a quick shower, always preferring his at night, because he was too tired for that shit right after waking up, pulling on a pair of red boxer briefs. He climbed into bed and under the blankets, willing himself to fall sleep.

An hour and a half passed of tossing and turning in the dark, sleep skillfully evading him. It was frustrating to endure and he felt like he'd surely lose his mind if this kept happening. He glanced at his open door, across the hall where his father's was slightly ajar. Maybe he'd let him sleep with him again. Granted, earlier was a little less intimate under the circumstances in which they fell asleep together, but he'd obviously slept peacefully and nightmare free.

Mind made up, Oliver eased out of his bed and across the hall. Slowly pushing the door open further, he could barely make out Vincent's sleeping and, goddamn it, shirtless form, laying diagonally on his king size bed.

"Dad..." his voice was quite as he stepped further into the room. He saw the man shift before his eyes fluttered open halfway, he hummed in question. "Can I sleep with you?"

Despite the baritone in his voice, he felt like a little ass kid asking that question.

Vincent blinked tiredly before answering, "yeah." He closed his eyes and straightened his body out, making room before patting the bed beside him. "C'mere."

Oliver gladly climbed into the bed beside his father, lifting the cover over his muscled body. He lay on his back for a moment, Vincent's own back facing him as he now lay on his right side. He couldn't tell if he was still awake or not.

"...Dad?" His voice was softer than it was earlier now that they were closer and he didn't want to wake the man if he'd fallen back asleep already.

"Ollie Pop?" He sounded tired and wondered if he was annoying him now.

He turned on to his side, facing his father's naked back. Taking a deep breath he asked. "Can I hold you?" There. He said it.

It was a few moments before Vincent responded. "Ah, sure."

His dad lifted his arm slightly and Oliver scooted closer, slipping both arms around his father's warm torso. He hesitantly nuzzled his face into the lengthy hair, immediately relaxing with a content sigh. He smelled nice. "Thanks," he mumbled, his eyes drifted shut as his hand rested against Vincent's stomach.

His dad shivered, but he didn't notice as he was already beginning to fade from consciousness. An arm partially covered his before a hand engulfed his own. "Love you, son."

Oliver hummed happily at the safe feeling and words, even if he was the one doing the holding, before muttering while half asleep. "Love you too, daddy."

×StarvedWereFiend×


	3. Chapter 3

Oliver should have learned from the couch incident what a bad idea it was to sleep so close to Vincent.

He could feel his morning wood pressing up against his father's back. They were in the same position they had fallen asleep in, only now, Oliver's left leg was trapped between two others. He could tell that Vincent was still asleep from the slow rise and fall beneath his hand and the soft snoring. It must have been quite early considering his father usually got up around nine in the morning on weekdays as he worked from home. He breathed in the scent of his dad's shampoo, it smelled like apples. Cute.

He wondered if it'd be bad if he just-

His hips slowly pressed against his father's lower back before gently rocking back and forth. Yeah, this was bad, but it felt so good. Even more so considering he hadn't touched or been touched by anyone else sexually in several months. This wasn't right, he should stop, but his body wouldn't listen. He could feel precum dribbling from his cock as his thumb stroked the fine hairs below his father's navel.

His eye's flew open in shock as Vincent ground back against him. Was he awake? Or was he still asleep and didn't know what he was doing? Oliver bit down on his bottom lip to stifle a moan at the sensation. This couldn't be happening. It shouldn't be. Suddenly the hand that lay limply on top of his was now gripping it, pushing it lower to the bulge in his dad's pajama pants.

"Oh shit, you're awake..." He hadn't necessarily meant to speak out loud, but he was not expecting what happened. His voice was gruff from sleep.

Vincent let out an amused huff, though Oliver was sure the man was flushed to the core. "Well, you did wake me up." He voice was also quiet and full of sleep.

"Sorry," he was, but this turn of events was certainly better than he could have ever imagined. His fingers hesitantly trailed up and down the clothed hard on under them. "I- Are you sure?" He hoped so, because, God, did he want it.

"I wouldn't have moved your hand if I wasn't." Vincent assured after hesitating briefly, but it was nice to have verbal confirmation. Especially since he felt bad for how this started.

Oliver nodded, his father's hair tickling his nose, chin, and, lips from the action. "Okay." He relocated his hand to the waistband of his dad's pants, before slipping beneath it, gripping his clothed member. His father gasped and his body jerked back into Oliver's bigger one. He held in his groan of pleasure from the action and spoke again. "So, this is okay too, right?"

He could feel Vincent take a deep breath, hair tickling his face again as the older man nodded "ye-yeah."

Oliver continued the slow movements of his hand, relishing in the sounds the followed. He wanted to make Vincent feel good. To hopefully not regret the act they were currently committing when they were finished.

He could feel a wet spot beginning to form in the briefs beneath his fingers as precum leaked from his father's cock. He licked his lips as his mouth suddenly dried from anticipation before his hand drifted to the hem of his dad's underwear. He heard the sound of the man's breath hitch as his fingers dipped inside, teasingly brushing against the head of his member. Vincent's body shuddered against his own as he rubbed the slit momentarily before gently spreading the slick precum along the rest of his rigid cock.

Oliver wanted to say something. God, did he want to tease the man trapped in his embrace, but he didn't want to scare him away. As far as Oliver was aware, his father didn't often engage in sexual activities with men, let alone incest. He occasionally seen the man flirting with women who approached him outside of the house, but that was about it. His voice could set him off. So, he'd stay quiet. If there is a next time, he was fully prepared to let loose. And how he hoped there'd be a next time.

Vincent moaned as Oliver's thumb massaged the underside of his shaft and gripped the wrist of said hand, but not pushing it away. Oliver could feel his own cock twitch as he felt his dad's self control slowly dwindling away as he lost himself to pleasure.

He shifted and freed his right arm from beneath the warm body, removing his boxer briefs with slight difficulty due to the position. The older man's body tensed when he felt his hard member against his bare back as Oliver tossed his underwear somewhere on the floor to be found later. The man almost immediately relaxed when his cock was gripped firmly and stroked, sinking in into the bed with a soft moan.

Oliver nuzzled the dark locks in front his face before nearly jumping out of his skin as his own cock was suddenly grasped. A startled moan rumbled from within him and he barely stopped his hips from bucking. The warmth of his father's hand felt too good, especially knowing who it belonged to. He couldn't imagine what it'd feel like to be buried deep within him, in a hotter and tighter space. He wasn't sure he'd be able to hold back if the time came. Hell, just the thought had him spreading his precum along his dad's back.

He groaned low and moved both hands to Vincent's hips, abruptly changing their position. His father gripped Oliver's forearms to steady himself as he now lay on top of his son, back still pressed to his chest. Though, now, their faces were right next to each other to save Oliver's dick from getting crushed in his haste. 

Oliver's heart skipped a beat as he felt Vincent's breath ghost across the left side of his lips. Would kissing be too much? Probably, he concluded. He wouldn't do it now unless his father initiated it. Although, he'd probably be holding his breath waiting on the shier man to take the initiative.

Gaining back his focus, Oliver pushed down his dad's two articles of clothing, only being able to get them down mid-thigh from their new position. Even worse, his cock now sat on top of the other's and he thought he might cum then and there just from the feeling. He felt fucking overwhelmed. He didn't let that deter him as he eagerly went back to stroking his father with his left hand, reveling at the sight of the man throwing his head back over his shoulder.

Taking a risk, he leaned in, lips brushing against the taut neck in his face. It was a blank canvas begging to be marked. His tongue swiped across the creamy skin as he gave gave a squeeze to the shaft in his hand.

"O-Ollie..." Vincent moaned, bucking his hips slightly into his son's hand and tilting his head to the side, subconsciously giving Oliver more access.

Hearing his nickname only spurred him on, encouraging him to add his own leaking member to his grasp with a groan and shudder, their precum making their cocks glide against each other with ease. As he stroked them to completion, he placed a few kisses against Vincent's neck before sucking and nipping in a couple different spots. It was sure to leave marks, but that was exactly what he wanted. He was staking his claim, too many times had he become angry watching women compliment his father on his eyes to then lead him into a conversation full of flirting.

Vincent gripped his son's forearms tighter before moaning wantonly in his ear, driving him closer to his climax. Oliver felt the man's cock pulse beneath his own and against his fingers, speeding up his movements. He removed his right hand from his father's hip, gliding it up his fit body before thumbing and tugging the corresponding nipple.

"Hng!" His father's back suddenly arched away from his body as he let out a shocked moan. His release splattered across his front and even hit his chin and Oliver's cheek. Fuck, that's sexy as hell.

Oliver couldn't stop himself from thrusting into his hand a couple of times before he too climaxed with a groan, cum landing on his dad who still lay atop him, struggling to catch his breath.

That just happened.

This wasn't just another wet dream. He could feel his father weighing his down, chest rising and falling under his hand that lay on his lightly furred chest.

This wasn't another one of those times where he was daydreaming at the table only to become conscious of the fact that he had an aching boner for his father who remained unaware as he sat across from him, eating breakfast.

That just happened.

Now what? Would his father be angry? Ashamed just as he once was? He wouldn't blame him, but couldn't deny that it wouldn't hurt to be rejected after what just happened between them. Would he kick him out? Disown him? He didn't think he could handle it if it got that far. Why would he though? Surely he-

"Um... I think we need to talk." Vincent's voice cut through the panic that was suddenly waging war in Oliver's mind. His son hadn't even noticed that the man had slid away from him and out of the bed, back facing him with his pajama pants back on his hips.

Oliver swallowed thickly, suddenly wishing he hadn't tossed his underwear earlier. He felt bare and vulnerable. He wiped his hand across his wet cheek, nodding mutely before realized his father couldn't see him. "R-Right..."

"I'm going to shower, you should probably do the same." His dad stated before disappearing into his master bathroom without looking back.

Oliver sighed deeply as he rubbed a shaky hand over the clean side of his face before sitting up in the mess of a bed.

Damn it.

He fucked up.

×StarvedWereFiend×


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Oliver was completely showered, redressed, and ready to face his father, thirty minutes had passed. Truthfully, he wanted to hide away in his room and never come out. He didn't want to see the look of shame and disgust in Vincent's face. He couldn't bare it.

He took a deep breath before tucking in the damned tag that kept scratching the back of his neck, making note to remove it later. He was now sporting a pair of simple grey jogging pants and his burgundy pullover that had his high school's name scrawled on the front. His last name, Davis, and number on, 42, the back. His feet clad in in black socks, matching the boxers he currently wore.

The sound on his footsteps padding down the stairs were drowned out from the loud and rapid beating of his heart. Vincent was in the living room, sitting in the middle of the couch freshly clothed as well with his damp hair in a loose bun. He was now wearing plain white t-shirt and a pair of black gym shorts that went barely lower than mid-thigh. Didn't he know what those did to his son's imagination?

Oliver momentarily took in his dad's hunched over form as he made his way to the love seat across from the couch. He had his head in his hands as his elbows rested on his thighs. Looks like Oliver wasn't the only one dreading this conversation, but it was inevitable, he guessed. At least now it was, they'd reached the point of no return.

The sound of Oliver's butt plopping down on to the cushion must have snapped Vincent out of whatever thought process he was going through, because he tensed and his head jerked upwards. His gaze focused on his son and his body only seemed to pull more taut. Well, that was a relief, Oliver thought.

Not.

That made him feel shittier than he did a few seconds ago. Was this his fault? Why couldn't he just keep his damn hands to himself? He knew the answer to that one very well. His father was just too irresistible in his eye and having him so close in that situation felt surreal. Hell, it still feels surreal.

"I..." Vincent began, before sighing and dragging a hand down his face. He shook his head, "I don't even know what to say."

Oliver shared that sentiment, remaining silent with his hands clasped together tightly on his lap. He kept glancing from his father sea-foam eyes to his feet, which were once again in his worn black slippers.

The older man absentmindedly tucked a stray hair behind his ear, a pointless task as it was bound to free itself again, another exhausting sigh passing his lips. "I slowly noticed you doing little things that was usually out of the norm for us, but I didn't necessarily understand why." His voice was soft, but loud in the quiet that suffocated the room. "I think I do now. I just don't know what to do about it." He buried his head in his hands again, hiding his shameful expression. "... I don't even fully understand why I did what I did."

This time, Oliver focused on his own socked feet. "I'm sorry..." He apologized softly, completely out of character, his father flinched in shock. Oliver was usually quite firm with his words, always the confident one between them. "Did you hate it?" That question broke the dam in his mind and unfiltered words began to spill from his mouth, not giving Vincent the chance to answer the question. "Do you hate me? Do you regret it? I understand if you do, because it's not normal. Which is why I'd also understand if you hated me too, because I'm not normal. I don't-"

"Whoa! Whoa! Olls, slow down. I don't hate you, I could never. Don't ever think that way again, you are my literal world. I-I didn't hate what happened, I actually enjoyed it quite a bit and that is what confuses and scares me." Vincent sighed for what felt like the millionth time as his fingers tugged on a few strands of hair that hung beside his right eye. "It's confuses and scares me that I might actually want something se-sexual and romantic with you, because you're my son and it's wrong, but in a way I don't care...

"I just... I just want to be happy and if that happiness comes from things deemed unconventional between me and my son, then so be it. I don't care anymore. But!" He added, holding his hand up towards Oliver as he seen his head flick up towards him with a hopeful expression. His father's once pale skin now flushed as he looked away while stumbling over his next words. "Pl-Please don't rush me. I haven't been... intimate with anyone in years and this," he haphazardly motioned between them, "is going to take some getting used to."

Oliver nodded, trying to hide his excitement in the action and probably failing. This went way better than he thought. Not only did his father not hate him, but he wanted to give whatever this is, a try. He nervously clenched his hands tightly before resting them on top of his knees.

If he go shut down at his next question, he was spending the rest of the day in his room, not caring that it was still morning time.

"So," Oliver took a deep, silent breath. Steeling his emotions to the best of his ability as he moved up from the couch, kneeling in front of Vincent. "Is asking for a kiss moving too fast?" He asked with a slight tilt to his head, doing his best to gaze into his father's eyes who once again became too nervous too look at him as he processed the question. He chuckled quietly, his 'take charge' demeanor coming back and he gently gripped his father's chin with his left hand, making the latter face him. Though, he tried and failed to avert his eyes. He brushed his thumb across the man's soft bottom lip, feeling the warm breath caress his skin as he shivered. "I need a verbal answer, Vinny..." Oliver teased, his voice soft and alluring. It'd been a while since he'd called his father by that nickname, usually in instances where he was feeling playful or trying to rile him up. "Can I kiss you?"

Vincent balled up his fists tightly on his lap at the sound of the nickname only his son called him. The older man visibly gulped in anticipation, slowly, but surely, dragging his gaze from the chin in front of him to green eyes that rivaled his own. "Y-Yes..."

Oliver couldn't help the small smirk that curved the left side of his mouth at the response. He was going to savor this moment with every fiber of his being and make sure it left Vincent only wanting more. Though, it was sure to backfire and do the same to himself.

The younger man moved his thumb to the older's chin as he leaned in, giving himself more access to the pink lips. The bottom more plump than the top one. He had to stop himself from immediately moaning the moment their lips touched. They were so soft. With hooded eyes, Oliver watched as his father's closed, shielding him from their beautiful color before his did the same.

Their lips moved languidly against each other as Vincent reached up to grip the wrist of the hand that was holding his face. Oliver moved his right hand slowly up the other man's leg before finally reaching it's destination. He felt his father shiver lightly beneath him as he loosened his fingers from their tight grasp, tangling them with his own.

He felt Vincent's breath hitch before releasing a shuddering breath against his lips. The man pulled away before burying his face in his son's neck, hiding his face. Oliver hummed softly and moved his left hand up to cup the back of his father's head. He felt wetness against his against his skin as he began so slowly began to sway the side to side.

"I know," Oliver's voice was quiet. "I've got you... I've got you and I'm never letting go." He pressed a kiss to the side of the man's face, strands of dark hair getting in the way. "I promise."

A sniffle and a squeeze to their interlocked hands was the only response he received, but he wasn't surprised and was even a little grateful. He'd probably break down himself if he heard Vincent's voice clogged with tears or seen his wet cheeks. No, a hand squeeze was more than enough to signify that he heard and maybe even thankful.

xStarvedWereFiendx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I-I didn't proofread this because it's late, I've been busy lately, but most of all I'm lazy... So, um, I apologize, Sweethearts. <3
> 
> Also let me know, via comment, anything you're interested in seeing between them before I wrap this up.


End file.
